Deceit and Deception
by SmalltownPigeon
Summary: 2 assassins, Alfred and Matthew begin working as servants for high-class Princes, only to find themselves oddly drawn in by the two, putting themselves in a position in which they can either betray their new masters of their hearts. Prucan USUK Rated: M.
1. Chapter 1

Everything from the blood and the smell of sweat was enough to make bile riddle in anyone's throat- all except for Alfred and Matthew. The stench of bodily fluids was more than a usual occurrence, the same ruling applied for the mottled blood stains that lingered on their clothes, visible even on black so they'd noticing even the cloth's texture managed to alter due to mingling with the blood of the duo's latest kill.

At first this was from the career they had in mind but after countless betrayal from many-a-person. By now half of their sanity had been derived from their minds, creating reckless souls—souls which many would assume to have not a single care in the world—with a vast lack of emotions.

Neither would deny the thrill of the kill, the sharp rush of adrenalin that pulsated through their veins with every single violent outburst causing a frenzy to rile their blood. Even as another's crimson liquid smeared spectral skin.

In truth Matthew's fondness of such a _career_ was all too bizarre, his nature all those years ago; a frail outline, barely noticed. Now he was noticed as an adequate assassin by acquaintances that resided the turbulent streets. For his Brother, Alfred, it was of course still surprising, especially considering his once adopted 'Hero' title.

All of this was just what brewed in the past. But now a new kind of concoction was in process.


	2. Chapter 2

[ I apologise for not explaining this in the first place but the first chapter is more of a blurb-type summary. This is my first story here so I'm not used to how everything works. OTL ]

5 Years ago.

A shriek was let out as a heavy fist pounded the table, "_Fuck!" _yelled an outraged voice, more than enough aggression was audible in the voice of the two blonde's father—he as brunette unlike their gentle mother, but she'd been gone for a long time—he was stoned again, full of drugs and probable alcohol a sick and twisted combination.

Every time he got like this, it was horrendous. Matthew held his younger brother close, not only for his protection but his own. Each other's security was all they had since that one fatal day, the car crash that sent their life reeling out of control, their antagonised Father driven to pure insanity.

To an extent neither of the boys could blame him, they couldn't. He'd done well to strive through the years when Erin—The mother of the two and a splendid wife—was still alive. The family had gone through so much strife and troublesome times; Debt, gambling, crime, death, betrayal , violence and much more.

Despite all the grief they had encountered their Mother stayed cheery, when Alfred thought about it he could still see those soft violet eyes of hers, particularly when he looked into his Brother's eyes, why he even had her accent. A delicate Canadian accent that filtrated through your ears like a pleasant dream, his mother's voice always soothed him, sending away the tears so his blankets remained dry and untarnished.

Back then with their Father no one was there to stop the Brother's tears, they only had each other to nestle into as they cried themselves to sleep. The two soon grew sick of the gruelling affairs with their father and ran away, on their first attempt being caught. They were sent to a foster home, the truth soon revealed that – that fatherly figure of the two northern American's had lost custody.

_So many times they escaped the grounds of that home, scared for their Daddy they had left behind. Hoping he was coping, that in losing them he wasn't struggling to carry on. They relied on the thought of him carrying on as if it came as an automatic motion. They even had hopes that he would be discarding the drugs, they were wrong, oh-so-wrong._

_That was when it began;_

That very day they ran away from the foster home for the seventh, and what they vowed to be the last time. That was when they saw a murder right before their eyes. A man looming over a pleading figure, _vulgar, impotent whining_; it got him nowhere. The man's brain where soon decorating the wall, coating them in a thick coat of cranium gunk. Back then such a sight was sickening. Time stood still as the only outline left in motion heading in their direction, leading them away with threats and coaxing words.

_Taking them to their new life, to train them._

Little did the duo know but they would be growing up as lethal assassins, leading a life which different a vast amount to the one they lead before that foster home, before their mother died, and a drunkard of a father hassled them with his shenanigans.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2.

Just an ordinary day, that was truly all it was. Yet another assignment that would mean nothing- utter emptiness in fact. It wasn't exactly the kind of emotion-filled job where you went home feeling proud of a greats day work—not unless you really were a sick sadist at heart, and there were days like that from time to time when Alfred peeled off the usual latex gloves to discover blood had even managed to slyly slither underneath them, other times the simple thought of a bloody kill was enough to make Matthews stomach turn and vice versa of course.

Matthew's shy nature was erratically deceased, something that blew over quick once he'd took on the job as a 'kill-joy' assassin, he learned to become affiliated with people, socialize with them; flirting, coaxing and plain luring them in. Yeah, sometimes it was harder said than done but they'd grown used to waving off people they had met along the way, they could hear that someone they saw every single day had dropped dead and shrug it off without a care in the world.

After all that hardship they didn't care—Why should they care? No one cared about them, not anymore.

A sullen, black phorse rolled down the twisting dark road, letting the two blonde's step out. Heavy steps on the damp concrete as thunder cried out in the dinge of the grey sky above them, it was almost hard to call it a sky because it looked nothing like the sky they knew in New York, but, this was England where their agency had moved.

Alfred loomed over the black vehicle peering inside. "Thanks for the lift, Fennyson." He mumbled, before taking placid steps towards the rear end of the roaring beast they arrived in, it's back end still hot and clammy from the trip, water dripping off it exterior and onto the man's leather boots. Matthew dodged tactfully as a trunk came flying in his direction, he ought to have learned his brother would carelessly hurl his baggage straight at him; it was just like him. "Hey, Al. Watch it—for Christ's sake." He scoffed out of disgust, blowing bangs of hair out of his face only for the reckless wind to blow it back. The younger of the siblings smirked, "Didn't you learn that it was bad to use the lord's name in vain. The Braithwaites would slap your wrists for that. Plus, I'm just keepin' you in check." He retorted, accent thick with audible difference to that of Matthew's who continued to retaliate, "They—are dead."

"Think they went through the pearly whites?"

"No, of course no—"

"So, you don't believe.."

"Al, we're not here to talk about death."

"We're here to make death happen."

"God, shut up."

"God appreciates that offer, but no."

"So you're God now, Al, just because you get to decide when a small handful of people _die_?"

Alfred was silenced, turning his back on the Canadian as he took a sharp turn down the road. He didn't think he was God. He didn't dare question his existence either, if he did exist then he wouldn't end up in Heaven only good people ended up there, people like their mother.

The rest of the trip was primarily silent for the two, mainly because all noises were cut short as they ventured into the countryside, each stride cut roughly as sort as the silence was before the two picked up speed, being late was not acceptable. Masters did not tend to appreciate tardiness.

It took twenty minutes if not more for them to land at the doorstep of the estate, there was no number as promised but there was that strange name their assignment told them about, "Kornblume rose.." The Canadian whispered, the German sounded completely different in his national dialect. "Sounds Dutch or som-" Alfred added only to be cut short by his brother, "German." He muttered before rattling the heavy metal knocker against the door, the cold apperceived trough his glove sending a rough tingle down his spine.

A dark spectre moved swiftly towards the door, before slowly inching it open and a pair of deep-set, crimson peepers looked them over. "So, this is what he hired—Psh." The albino sneered, his tone very nasal and with a rough, brittle quality which is accent only added more to.

"Oi, Kirkland! Your lunch arrived," He joked, neglecting the arrivals for quite some time, disappearing inside the manor, muffled chatter becoming distinct but not coherent enough to be made out.

[[ So, there's finally a bit of speech in this section, I'm sorry the story is going a little slow but once I get into the main storyline things will—hopefully – get better. Thank you for reading and all the nice comments, in advance. ]]


End file.
